


The Hitchhiker

by Cylin



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Codependency, Dark, Derogatory Language, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Murder, No One Is Nice (Except Barry maybe), Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Slurs, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, like vantablack, mention of past child sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 17:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10140563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin
Summary: Hitchhiking can be dangerous. Picking upthishitchhiker is even more so.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings and tags, people!
> 
> Never been to Wisconsin or Minnesota, but I found them on a map…. XD  
> Also some peeps from there have assured me that those states would be the perfect setting for this fic. But, you know, ignore any inaccuracies.
> 
> My undying gratitude to [KyloReam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KyloReam/pseuds/KyloReam) for an incredible beta-job! Seriously, this is so much better because of it. Thank you so much!!! <3

****

 

**#131 (unlucky one - Daniel)**

It had been an endless stretch of highway and he had grown utterly sick of it. So he changed to one of the back roads. It would take him a lot longer now, but the monotony of the straight, grey asphalt of Route 94 with its endless yellow lines, the never-ending monotony of it had actually started to given him tunnel vision. He figured it would be safer to change things up a bit. Give his brain something else to process.

When he rounded the next wide corner, he saw a small figure at the side of the road, walking. The man must have heard the rumble of the engine as he turned to look, stuck up his thumb and held up a cardboard sign, waving it slightly. It read Janesville.

He deliberated for a second, slowing his Dodge a bit. Janesville wasn't his destination, but staying on these roads he would drive a way towards it. Some company would give his brain something new to process, he decided.

Slowing down he crawled to a stop at the side of the road just a few yards from the man.

He could see him in his rearview mirror. He was lugging a huge traveller's backpack on his slim, lanky frame, shifting it awkwardly on his back as he hobbled over. It must be heavy, he figured, the way it made the man curl forwards.

The hitchhiker, in his late twenties or early thirties, had gotten around to the passenger's door and grinned broadly through the open window.

“Thank you, man!”

He couldn't place his accent. Maybe Canadian? Although it was no Canadian he had ever heard.

“Not a problem,” he drawled, smiling back. “Just put your stuff in the back.”

“Sure, thanks.” The late afternoon sun made his hair shine a striking golden russet as he heaved his pack onto the backseat and got in next to him.

“I'm going to Milwaukee, so I can only take ya part of the way.”

“Sure thing,” the red head answered nodding. “I'm just glad you let me ride with you at all, man.”

Daniel just tipped his head in acknowledgement. “So whatcha going to Janesville for, uhm...?” He asked, partially out of politeness, but also because he wanted to talk. Keep his brain sharp.

“Kyle,” the man said said with a smile. “Real nice of you to let me hitch a ride by the way.”

“Sure, no problem. I'm Daniel.”He smiled back with a nod, shoving his baseball cap a little further back on his head and then focusing his attention on the road. It was getting late and this was the time when all sorts of critters could walk into the road. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to take the backroads after all. At least he had pleasant company.

“I'm on my way to my boyfriend,” Kyle supplied to Daniel's earlier question.

Boyfriend, huh? Daniel thought. One of those. He mentally shrugged. It wasn't his place to judge. That right resided with the Lord alone.

Kyle got out his phone and texted rapidly.

“That the boyfriend?” Daniel asked only half interested, but still with a politely pleasant expression.

“Yeah,” Kyle answered. “I'm just gonna text him your license plate number, you know, to be safe.”

“Sure.” Daniel shrugged. Better safe than sorry, especially for his kind in this part of the country. There were some crazy sorts here out for blood. Maybe he should tell Kyle not to advertise his – well, preference? It was called a preference, wasn't it? - so much.

“So why ya hitchhiking, Kyle?”

The man looked up, fixing his pale eyes on Daniel. He could feel the gaze on the side of his face. He looked at Daniel for a moment, not saying anything at all. Then he averted his gaze quickly, only to let it sweep up Daniel's side towards his face again, intent. “Oh, it's more fun. I _love_ meeting new people.”

Out of the corner of his eyes Daniel could see him grin mischievously, his eyes crinkling, expression playfully expectant. The way he said it made Daniel vaguely uncomfortable. He couldn't be sure, had never been in a situation like this before, but he got the feeling Kyle was – maybe? – flirting with him.

Daniel decided to change the subject, lest Kyle got any funny ideas, asking instead where he was from, what he did for a living. Small talk, nothing complicated.

They had been driving for another 20 miles, chatting amicably – thankfully not about anything _controversial_ – when another form detached from the shadows of the woods lining the road. The evening sun was low enough to blind a driver with its slanting light.

Daniel squinted. It was another man walking alongside the road, also sporting a backpack. But this one was a massive military issue pack, not like the travelling pack Kyle had. When they got closer Daniel thought wryly that the man carrying the backpack seemed to be military issue as well. He was tall and broad with a wide and loping gait. As soon as he heard the car, he turned. He took a long look at Daniel's car, his head tilted slightly to the side. Then he, too, stuck out his thumb and held up a sign saying Madison in scraggly letters. His black hair was tied back with a red bandanna, triangle shaped.

Kyle sat a little forwards squinting at the sign. “Hey,” he said, pointing, “Madison. That's kinda on our way, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said, but shook his head. “Listen, I'm gonna find a motel soon anyway and honestly, I don't feel comfortable with two strangers in my car.”

Kyle looked at him with wide, naive eyes. Understanding seemed to dawn and he nodded. “Oh yeah, sure,” he muttered. “Better safe than sorry, right?” He asked with a boyish grin, echoing Daniel's earlier thought.

Daniel nodded as he looked at the figure rapidly gaining in size the closer they got. “And he looks … kinda rough?”

Kyle followed his gaze. He looked out the window as they passed the man on the side of the road without slowing down.

The man's gaze was fixed on Kyle, a dark, hungry scowl creeping over his face, as his eyes flicked to his hair and then his face.

Kyle frowned.

The dark-haired hitchhiker stared after him with longing and hate, his eyes glued to the copper glow of his hair in the sinking sunlight. He brooded, one thought circling endlessly in his head: He couldn't have him. It's one of the rules, he thought with simmering resentment.

Daniel didn't know it, but he and his passenger had just narrowly avoided becoming part of a heinous crime.

  


**#5 (lucky one - Barry)**

  


He has been on the road since way before dawn.

His eyes are getting tired. They burn and feel raw now, like he has some sand in them. He pushes his cap further into his face, hoping the shade will help with the sore feeling under the lids.

He turns the volume up until the music is blaring through the interior of his Ford. He checks the time on his phone. Only 3pm. Damn. He'll need to take a break soon.

He drives for another half hour, the monotony of the road mind-numbing.

His eyes try valiantly to find anything interesting to rest on, to freshen the accompanying monotony of his mind. They suddenly snap up to and focus on a figure quite a long way up the road, rapidly gaining in size as the Ford speeds towards it.

It is a man laden with a huge backpack.

He holds out an arm, which even from this far away the driver identifies as a thumbs up for hitchhiking. He slows his car a little, reading the guy's sign. The town is kinda on his way. And why is it always guys and never girls? Too dangerous, his brain supplies. Oh yeah. Right. Too dangerous.

The man is tall but very slim, looks a bit like an overladen beanstalk with his big traveller's backpack listing to one side.

He stops the car a little behind him and leans out the window. “Hey, I'm gonna find a motel soon, but I can take you and continue tomorrow,” he calls over the sound of the engine and the other cars speeding by them.

“Oh yes, please!” The man shouts back and the driver lifts his eyebrows at the accent. You are a long way away from home, he thinks.

The hitchhiker comes up to the passenger window to smile inside. He has very, very red hair, tousled and windswept and a wide, grateful smile.

“Hi,” he says, “I'm Ben.”

“Hi Ben,” The driver replies with an amused grin, popping the trunk open, “Put your stuff in the back and hop in.”

“Thanks!”

When Ben is settled in the passenger seat, he merges back into the moderate traffic, introduces himself. “I'm Barry by the way.”

Ben snorts, but catches himself quickly, but not before Barry shoots him a questioning look.

“Sorry,” Ben mutters with a wry grin, “It's just, to me your name is very typically American.”

“You're from England, right?” It sounds nice when he speaks. Very nice.

“Yeah.”

“What brought you to this great country then? You a tourist?”

Ben shakes his head. “Not for years, no. I live here.”

“You haven't absorbed any American accent,” Barry observes just to keep the conversation going.

Ben grins. “Oh I can put one on alright,” he drawls. It sounds like... something. Not anything Barry is able to place. Could maybe also be Canadian or something. But then Barry isn't that good with accents anyway.

“Moved to the States with my partner,” Ben continues in his normal, crisp accent.

Barry frowns. Partner? What, like business partner?

Ben must have seen the confusion on his face, because he adds, “Life partner, boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Barry says, because it is a little unexpected and because he can't think of anything else intelligent to say.

Ben scratches his head, seeming a little unsure. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he mutters, “I know not everyone's very comfortable here with that sort of thing.” He looks sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Oh no,” Barry quickly assures him, “It's fine. Really. All fine.” Because it is. He directs a quick glance at Ben, adds another, “Fine” for good measure. He just – he isn't uncomfortable or anything, he just doesn’t often meet any queers, that is all. Ben is a handsome fella though, Barry can understand why someone might be into him. Quite handsome actually.

Ben gives him a lopsided smile and Barry realises that he has probably been staring a bit too long. He clears his throat and focuses back on the road.

They drive for a while in silence. Ben gets out his phone and texts. After a while his texting becomes quicker and quicker, the motions of his thumbs more aggressive and jagged until he growls in frustration and just stares daggers at the display.

“Boyfriend?” Barry asks with some interest.

Ben blows the fringe of his hair out of his eyes with a huff.

He's a cute redhead. Twinkish, a little. And sometimes Barry really digs that. Not that he usually does. He's not gay or anything. He likes women, after all. But damn, that British thing this guy has going – kinda hot. Maybe. A little.

“Yeah,” Ben sighs as he tugs his phone away, his expression becoming slightly conflicted.

“What?” Barry flicks his eyes to Ben's face, gives him a sympathetic look.

Ben sighs again, shrugging. “I dunno. We're in an open relationship now and I - I just don't know.” He looks at his hands. One thumb rubbing the palm of his other hand tensely. He looks out of the window, his shoulders drawn up.

“Not like it used to be?” Barry hazards.

Ben snorts. “No, not at all.” He shrugs again. “I suggested it to keep it going somehow, but honestly? I'm not sure. I just don't want to – I'm sick of – I dunno.” He sighs again, slumping in his seat, the picture of frustrated misery.

“Hey, I understand,” Barry says gently. He pats Ben on the knee, letting his palm rest there just a moment too long.

Ben's round, pale eyes drop to his hand, then up to his face. The corners of his mouth twitch. “Thanks mate,” he says, a grin spreading all over his face. “I appreciate it.” He turns back to look out over the road, the ghost of a smile still clinging to his features, sweet and cloying like molasses. Barry hides his grin.

Looking ahead through the dusty windshield, Ben frowns suddenly, squinting his eyes and moving forwards in his seat. “Hey look,” he says pointing to something in front.

There is a lone figure walking alongside the road. He turns and holds out his hand in the universal hitchhiking gesture. The man is very impressive looking even from a distance with his army pack on his broad shoulders and dark hair curling out from under a red bandanna.

Barry slows and tries to read the sign.

“Fairmont,” Ben supplies, apparently better able to read the untidy scrawl.

“You mind another person?” Barry asks. To his own ears it sounds a lot more suggestive than he meant, but Ben doesn't seem to catch on.

“Not at all,” he says with an enthusiastic grin.

As they crawl to a stop, the hitchhiker walks up to them with long strides, his arms swinging taught at his sides. There is a tension in his shoulders, as if he's used to standing at attention for hours on end. He walks up to the passenger side window, which Barry puts down, leaning a little over Ben to talk to the stranger outside. Barry notices with satisfaction that Ben doesn't move much to make space, but instead lets Barry crowd him. “Hey, I'm gonna call it a day soon and find a motel, but if you want you can come with us and I can take you further tomorrow.”

The man's eyes sidle over Ben's features in a way Barry finds a little inappropriate. But Ben doesn't seem to not notice, or mind, as he just smiles pleasantly up at the man.

The man nods then, his strangely asymmetrical face suddenly splitting in a friendly smile. Barry's gaze stutters a little over his full lips. Damn. Apparently it's a gay attraction day today, he thinks, just a little uncomfortable as he feels his skin prickle.

“Thanks,” the hitchhiker mutters in a drawl towards Barry. His voice is deep and full. There is a rather strange beauty to him. An acquired taste. But Barry doesn't find it hard to acquire it, like at all, especially with the way that man is built and holding himself. Even without the pack Barry would have guessed military. Marine probably. He subtly checks for an eagle, globe and anchor, or semper fi tattoo on his arms, but they are bare, except for scars on their upper portions and the parts of his shoulders that are just visible under the slightly curled, cut-off sleeves of his white t-shirt.

Without even asking he hefts his heavy pack onto the rear bench and climbs in after, settling in the back. “Thanks, man,” he repeats.

Barry drives back onto the road, accelerating.

The new guy takes a moment to redo his bandanna, but even after he is done, he doesn't say anything more, just looks ahead.

Barry scrutinises him covertly in the rearview mirror. He is a really big guy. Strong silent type, apparently. Barry digs that too. Sometimes. Like, in porn. More than twinks actually. Usually. Fuck.

The guy seems rather fixated on Ben's red hair, the way he stares. Barry can't blame him really, the fine strands frame the light eyes in Ben's angular face and catch the afternoon sun, making the copper appear shot through with brass and bronze.

Barry wonders if the Marine is into guys. The way he subconsciously licks his lips as he stares at Ben and his obvious gaze suggest he is. Barry muses absentmindedly, wonders if he is open about it or is one of those closeted military grunts. A bit of a coincidence, the three of them in one car, Barry thinks, but it does happen.

The guy is still staring.

“So, what's your name?” Barry asks just to talk.

He startles slightly, his face jerking up to Barry's reflection in the mirror. He has nice light brown eyes, hooded, slightly sad looking, but gentle in a way, Barry thinks.

He mumbles something nearly unintelligible.

“So, Kyle-” Barry starts.

“It's Ky _lo_ ,” he corrects sharply.

Ben guffaws explosively. “What kind of name is 'Kylo'?” he giggles, sounding incredulous as he turns around in his seat, both hands clasped over the backrest, propping his chin up on his knuckles. He stares at Kylo, curious but clearly amused.

Kylo stiffens. “Better than 'Ben',” he retorts with gritted teeth, looking away. There is an old hurt there that welled up with his words, but he draws it back quickly.

Ben still chortles slightly, either not noticing the other man's glower, or opting to ignore it. His eyes crinkle with good humour. “That's probably why everybody calls me by my last name,” he amends.

Kylo's eyes snap up and meet Ben's with a sudden focus. It's rather intense, Barry thinks, feeling a little uncomfortable witnessing it.

There is a slight pause. A weird expectant silence settles into the cabin of the Ford.

Barry is curious, but also wants to keep a conversation going and hopefully change the subject to something less tense. He now regrets it a bit, that he picked up that Kylo guy as well. “What's your last name, then?” he asks Ben.

Kylo's gaze flicks over to Barry, but then snaps back to Ben, settling there. It seems almost as if he is holding his breath. Barry's eyebrows draw together in slight puzzlement. Weirdo.

“Well, Barry,” Ben says slowly diverting his attention back to him, his gaze focusing on Barry for a moment, before he looks back at Kylo, humour showing in the soft crinkles around his eyes.

“It's Hux,” Ben says simply with a grin, his wide, blue-green eyes never leaving Kylo's. The tension seems to ratchet up even more for a split second, making the small hairs on the back of Barry's neck prickle. But then Ben tears his eyes away from Kylo in the back and turns towards him again. The heavy atmosphere changes as quickly as it had thickened, only giving Barry a twinge of a weird feeling, then dissipating with it. He sees Kylo through the rear view mirror lean back into his seat, all the tension in his posture draining away rapidly. He stares out the window, his face now solemn, an aura of nonchalant boredom surrounding him. It seems constrained somehow, as if rigorously practised, but never quite mastered.

That man is weird, Barry decides. Hot in a 'fit Marine' kind of way, but weird. He was probably deployed and it screwed him up a little. You heard about it all the time, that some found it hard to adapt back into civilian life. Army life could make anyone a bit weird.

An hour later, the sun is red and golden, still low in the sky. They pull up at a small motel a little bit away from the main highway.

As soon as they stop Ben stretches in his seat. “I need a fucking fag,” he announces with a growl as he pulls his arms taut over his head, his shirt riding up just a little.

Barry is a bit taken aback by the slur, especially coming from polite, mild-mannered Ben.

“Hey, can I bum one off you?” Kylo asks from the back seat, suddenly more animated than he has been the whole drive here.

“Of course,” Ben replies with a warm smile.

Barry looks at them both, confused about what they're talking about. It becomes clear when they get their backpacks from the car and Ben pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

Oh yeah, Barry recalls suddenly, he had heard about that on a TV show or something. He feels a little like an idiot. He’s surprised Kylo knew right away what Ben was talking about.

“Hey, Barry,” Ben says amicably, is full lips curling around his 'fag' as he lights it, “Thank you so much for taking us, mate.”

Kylo nods his thanks, his brown eyes giving Barry a not so subtle once-over. It seems less like a come on and more like he is sizing him up.

Barry tries to ignore the strange tight feeling he gets at his neck at the look and just points his thumb over his shoulder at the main building.

“I'll go and get myself checked in.”

“Sure,” Ben answers. He nods at a large “No Smoking” sign at the entrance to the reception area. “We'll just finish these and do the same.”

He really doesn't want to leave Ben with that Marine. There is something aggressive about him, so tightly suppressed it seems even more dangerous for it. But Ben seems comfortable, so Barry locks the car and leaves them.

They are just done smoking when he returns. Ben is laughing openly and Kylo even smiles, the expression a little lopsided. It looks good on him, Barry notes.

“Hey,” Ben greets him as they start to walk towards the reception. “We just talked and Kylo here suggested we share a room to save money. Lucky for me you picked him up, too, Barry. Thanks again.” His smile is just that little bit suggestive.

At least Barry kinda hopes so, at least he thinks it is. If Kylo wasn't that odd, he'd totally go for him. He looks like he'd be an awesome top or dom or whatever the word is. But Kylo doesn't look at him, instead inspects the placement of the cameras pointed at the entrance to the motel reception. Marine for sure, Barry thinks.

Ben steps up to Barry, his pack heavy on his shoulders. “I need some food, but do you wanna meet up for cards or something later?”

Barry hopes for 'something' rather than cards, but even that would be nice. Ben is nice. He nods with a grin. “Yeah, sure. Totally.”

Later, after he has taken a shower, after the sun has dipped down but the air is still warm, Barry sees Kylo in a little area designated for outdoor eating. He seems to be sparring. He’s completely absorbed in his own head, his own world. He’s still wearing his white shirt, but it is now drenched in sweat and clings to his upper body. He seems to go through a fixed set of motions, turning and twisting as if fighting an invisible opponent. The bandanna is gone but he’s swirled his hair into a tight but messy little stub of a ponytail, his bangs having gotten free, sticking to his face with perspiration.

Barry swallows. The white scars he can see glisten with sweat in the fading sunlight. The way Kylo moves is strangely hypnotic and draws his gaze to his bulging muscles and fluid motions. He doesn't even seem particularly out of breath.

Barry would definitely like to get under that. Damn.

“Hey Kylo,” Barry calls, walking onto the grass. Kylo stops abruptly, his arms falling to his sides. He looks around as if he expects to suddenly find other people there.

“Whatcha doing?”

Kylo’s eyes flick quickly around a few more times, looking a little hounded. Then he just stares at Barry.

“Training?” It sounds like an unsure answer.

Barry steps closer and Kylo doesn't exactly step back, but looks around as if he is looking for something or someone to come to his aid. If Barry’s being honest with himself, he looks a little spooked. Kylo seems to gather himself up the next instant though, his shoulders hardening, his arms again kept slightly tensed at his sides.

“You train a lot, Kylo?” Barry asks, grasping for something to say in the absence of Kylo offering anything himself to talk about.

“Yeah,” Kylo answers slowly. He shrugs and scratches his shoulder. It looks a little like he is hugging himself. Barry feels a slight twinge of sympathy. Either he has caught Kylo so unaware that he is uncomfortable or he is actually shy. The latter makes Barry frown. It seems at odds with his sure movements and silent, strong appearance Barry had witnessed earlier.

They stand there on the grass in silence, Kylo still scratching his shoulder and looking around while Barry tries to find a topic for conversation.

This close Barry can smell him, his sweat mixed with the warm undertone of his damp hair. He breathes out slowly. Kylo is fucking ripped. And his smell clearly does something for Barry. He shifts subtly, hoping his cock will not fill out any more. He's not sure Kylo is really into that sort of thing and Barry really doesn't want to be at the end of a punch from him. He really wouldn't mind being at the end of other things.

“Must be hard to keep this, uh, fit compared to before?” Barry asks, alluding to Kylo's military background and hoping he sounds only halfway as suggestive as it sounds to his own ears. Fuck.

Kylo frowns. For a second Barry is afraid he misjudged and has made a grave mistake.

But then Kylo's expression clears a little and he even straightens up, his hand finally letting go of his own shoulder, revealing angry, flushed streaks where he scratched. The way he settles before Barry now he looks more like a soldier than ever before. He draws himself up, his arms again loose yet controlled at his sides. He is still hunching a little, but rather than unsure it looks predatory and strong.

Barry swallows quickly. Only Kylo's slightly wavering voice shows that Barry must have gotten him on the wrong foot. “Yeah, that – that is correct.”

When Kylo doesn't offer anything more, but just stares at him, Barry finally gives up. Either he is using the wrong line of communication here or Kylo really isn't interested. Which is a real shame, but cannot be helped.

“What's your room number? Ben said something about cards earlier.”

Kylo's expression seems to harden a little, but then relaxes, his eyes slide to the ground.

“26,” he mumbles slowly, his voice wavering slightly with sudden tension. Barry doesn't know how to interpret that. Maybe Kylo is really into Ben? He did look at him with that weird intensity in the car earlier. If he isn't making his move it's his loss, Barry decides. He lets his eyes roam once again - covertly, he hopes - over Kylo's tall, tightly muscled frame. He would have loved to have gotten under that. For sure. But it can't be helped.

“Well,” Barry says with a friendly, slightly frustrated wave, “have fun, Kylo.”

He’s going to find Ben. He seemed more amicable earlier, not to mention suggestive. But in his frustration Barry is already grudgingly entertaining the idea that there might only be literal cards on the table for him tonight. Nothing – and no one – else, probably. He wouldn't have minded at all to be the one over the table with Kylo behind him as the _driving_ force. Goddammit, he's horny now.

Barry knocks on the door. He is a bit nervous. The feeling dissipates quickly when Ben opens the door, a wide smile on his face.

“Come in,” he says with an enthusiastic wave into the room. His hair is damp from a recent shower and the room is swathed in humidity. Barry tries not to imagine him under a shower spray and fails quite spectacularly.

“I was wondering when you'd show up.” Ben's smile looks mischievous to Barry.

“Yeah?” He asks, an answering grin on his face.

Ben drops his gaze to the side, then lets it purposefully swivel back to Barry, starting at his shoes and angling up in exaggerated slowness, looking at him from under his reddish-gold lashes. “Yeah,” he breathes, his lip stuck between his teeth.

Well fuck me, Barry thinks emphatically. Shameless slut of a twink.

“Hey, Barry,” Ben drawls still biting his lip, making it bloom red, “Do you really wanna play cards?”

Instead of answering Barry asks, “Open relationship, right?”

Ben's grin spreads over his whole face and he is flushing with excitement. He doesn't even have to answer. They understand each other perfectly.

“Let's go to your room,” Ben suggests. “Kylo will be back from whatever he's doing soon.”

“Training,” Barry supplies with a sigh, thinking about his muscles glistening with sweat.

Ben makes an appreciative sound and Barry looks at him with a frown. Ben raises an eyebrow, manages to make it look intentionally unimpressed.

“Please tell me you did notice that he is hot.” Ben sounds almost affronted.

Barry grins, feeling his face colour as he snorts self-deprecatingly. “Yeah, he is.”

Ben's eyes light up at that.

“But he's not interested.”

“Oh,” Ben says, and the expression on his face flashes from puzzlement to sudden, mild disappointment to something that looks oddly like annoyance. Then he shrugs in a 'his loss' kind of way. Barry silently agrees.

They are quiet as they walk quickly to Barry's room. Ben looks around with some interest as they step inside, although it is almost identical to his own. Then he makes a face, smacking his own forehead.

“Shit, forgot the lube.”

“I got some,” Barry answers stepping up to him and letting his hand rest on Ben's slim hip. “Condoms, too.” He can feel the bone underneath the fabric of his clothes.

“I prefer my brand,” Ben says as he steps away, giving Barry a playfully coy look. “Wait a sec, I'll be right back.” At the door he turns around again. “Don't start without me.” His grin is wide and mischievous and makes Barry snort with mirth. He’s very hard, but heck no, he wouldn't.

Ben returns a short while later with a small bag. He certainly took his time and for a moment Barry thought he might have changed his mind. But Ben looks flushed and happy as he steps back into the room, waving the little bag about. “Got condoms for me as well.”

Oh. Uhm.

“You wanna fuck me?” Barry asks and cringes a little at the unsure and frankly disappointed tone of his voice. He really had thought this would go the other way round.

Ben gives him a slightly puzzled look. “No,” he says. He steps up to Barry, right into his personal space, so their chests brush and Barry can feel Ben's breath ghost over his face when he speaks. “I want _you_ to fuck _me_ , but do you honestly want my come all over your bed?”

Barry's not exactly against it, but before he can answer, Ben steps back and continues, looking at the bed. “It's probably not the cleanest to begin with. No use adding a wet spot to it.” He turns his head back to Barry, a wide, devilish grin enveloping his face. “And when I come, I come a lot.”

Holy fuck. What Barry says is, “Jesus Christ” and Ben's grin gets even wider. He looks victorious, as if he has just won a battle or a prize. He slowly steps back and that hip tilt and sway must be on purpose, it has to be. Ben walks backwards towards the bed and lets himself fall with a puffing laugh onto the box-spring, bouncing a little. He rubs the heel of his hand up and down against his crotch, spreading his legs wide.

“C'mon, Barry. Come here and fuck me.”

The consonants are so distinctly defined, clicking sharply between them. Barry makes an undignified yelping sound he will be denying to the day he dies and quickly chucks his shirt and fumbles with the buttons of his jeans.

Ben moans loudly and Barry's gaze snaps up to him, his buttons momentarily forgotten.

A lube bottle is open on the bedspread, slightly oozing clear, viscous fluid. So much for the wet spot.

Ben has his jeans open and slightly bunched down. His hand is wedged deep inside and from the cant to his hips and the way his hand and wrist outline against the fabric it is clear he isn’t touching his cock, but behind. His lip is caught between his teeth, drained of blood because he is biting it so hard, and Ben stares down at himself, seemingly mesmerized as he watches the movement of his own hand as best he can.

“Fuck,” Barry swears, “Are you..?”

Ben's blue-green eyes snap up to his. The entranced glaze is gone, replaced with something sharp as he focuses on Barry. “Yes,” he groans with satisfaction, flings his head back in a way that looks too theatrical to be entirely natural, and gasps between the motions. “I'm stretching myself open for you, Barry. For your cock.”

The way he says that goes straight to Barry's dick. Ben’s accent renders the words so much more sophisticated and at the same time a thousand times more filthy. He sounds like really filthy porn.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” Barry curses as he struggles to get his jeans off. Ben laughs, the sound high and tinkling in the room. He’s started to sweat and it makes the fine strands of his copper hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his face. With a fluid motion Ben gets up and quickly peels out of all his clothes. His back is turned towards Barry as he rummages around in his small bag. Barry can see a hint of glistening slick between his skinny cheeks.

Finally, _finally_ Barry is naked, and just in time to see Ben roll a condom over his dick and give it a few slow, suggestive pulls as he stares at Barry provocatively.

“You sure you wanna wear a condom yourself?” Barry wouldn't mind Ben's come on the sheets. Wouldn’t mind at all.

“Easier clean-up,” Ben says lightly, turns around and spreads his legs wide as he settles on the bed on hands and knees presenting his pert little ass. He wastes no time to push two fingers deep into his hole and scissor them, making himself moan obscenely.

“Fuck,” Barry swears feebly, trying his damnedest to get his own condom on as quickly as possible.

“Give it to me, Barry, please.”

And damn, that begging in that voice isn't helping.

Condom finally in place, Barry steps up to the bed. He pulls Ben, who is already moaning loudly, back a bit by his hips and positions him. Barry lines up and slides inside slowly, biting his lip to the point of pain, and feels Ben flutter and clench around him before he gives completely.

They both groan. Fucking hell, this is so hot.

He’d managed to persuade one girlfriend in the past to try taking it up the ass. And while Barry really liked it, she didn’t. So they never did that again. Since he’s not a loser who pays for sex - except, well, an occasional lot lizard when he is really desperate…anyway. Barry hasn’t had much opportunity to do this and it feels fucking amazing.

“Move!” Ben hisses sharply around a moan, another pushed out of him as Barry complies and gives an experimental thrust.

“Harder, Barry,” Ben urges, meeting his thrusts, “I can take it, I'm used to this.”

The notion that he does this often, that Ben just finds random men to get fucked, sizzles along Barry's nerves like an electric charge. Fucking twink!

Barry grips his hair hard, pulling Ben back by it as he thrusts forward. Ben howls.

The door to the room swings open wide, banging against the wall.

Barry freezes mid thrust, completely shocked. He feels his stomach plummet as he sees Kylo stalk in. He looks tense as he lets the door fall shut behind him, just staring back at them.

Barry can feel his erection wilting and Ben growls, pushing back. Barry really isn't sure what Kylo's doing here and he doesn’t seem to offer any explanation, instead leaning back and watching them with a scowl on his face.

Earlier he would have loved to have Kylo fuck him, but now he isn't sure he’s happy about him being here. This feels off to him, dangerous somehow.

Kylo's gaze is firmly on Ben, his brown eyes boring into him and Barry feels a cold shiver run down his spine. This was never part of the deal, and Barry feels extremely out of his depth here.

“Ben asked me here, when he got the lube,” Kylo finally drawls as if he doesn't have a care in the world, and Barry is a little surprised that Ben had gotten him convinced in the short space of time it took him to go his rooms and back to Barry’s. Explains why he took longer.

Kylo just leans against the door frame and waits, arms crossed over his wide chest, nonchalant and cool. That does something for Barry. It looks so self-assured, so strong and lazily predatory that Barry's breath hitches.

“Yes,” Ben hisses triumphantly, although Barry hasn't said anything. But the twitch of his dick might have given him away. He's still not entirely sure about this though.

“You, me - and _him_ , Barry.” Ben isn't looking at him as he speaks, but fixing his eyes on Kylo, while he slowly pushes back onto Barry's dick. Barry can see the muscle give around him, red and stretched, and fuck! He is definitely regaining his full erection.

Pulling off slowly again, his ass clenching hungrily around Barry, Ben whines, “That would be so hot!”

Yeah, okay, he is warming to the idea. Quickly.

“Was that your idea when you asked him here, you cunning little minx?” Barry asks, as he slaps his rump soundly.

“Yes,” Ben moans like a whore, thrusting back, grinning mischievously over his shoulder. “C'mon, Barry, you'll love it and it would be _so hot_!”

Twinks, Barry thinks half fondly, half exasperatedly. And Kylo does look a lot surer now than he did earlier. He looks completely different, calm and sure and _sexual_.

Barry shivers.

Self-conscious no more, Kylo reaches for the hem of his t-shirt with predatory assuredness. He’s a far cry from the man Barry met outside barely an hour ago. There’s a moment where he wonders at the discrepancy, his thoughts are sharply derailed when Kylo pulls his shirt off, revealing a toned but heavily scarred body.

“Ah shit, man!” Barry exclaims in pity at Kylo's cut up torso. “Shrapnel?”

Ben rolls his eyes, almost looking annoyed as he turns his gaze to Barry, but turns away before he can see Ben’s exact expression.

Kylo hesitates for a second; his eyes linger on Ben's prone form, arse flushed and flush against Barry's groin.

With a deliberate motion, he nods once at Barry in answer, not meeting his eyes. A scowl starts to spread over his features, hardening them.

“That's rough,” Barry says, because what else can he say? He must have touched a raw point, judging from Kylo's closed-off face. “I'm sorry, man.”

“I survived,” Kylo answers with a complete lack of emotion, brushing Barry's sympathy away with a dismissive tilt of his head.

“Baaa-rry,” Ben sing-songs from below him, languidly pushing his ass back while tightening his muscles. Barry groans, his hands flying to Ben's hips, gripping them hard. “Fuck!” he curses quietly.

“Yes,” Ben purrs, his voice deliberately dirty, “that's the idea.” He stretches his arms out, arches his back and deepens the penetration.

Behind him, Kylo makes a cut off hiccup of a noise.

Ben mewls, satisfaction dripping from the needy sound. “Bloody hell, you feel so good,” he sighs at Barry. The praise seems to spur Kylo into action. He steps up behind Barry, quickly dislodging his grip from around Ben's hips when he brushes his large hands up his torso, lifting Barry’s arms up and leaning him back into his broad chest.

“I want to fuck you, Barry,” Kylo growls low against Barry's ear. His rough voice makes it sound like a threat. Barry shudders, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden delicious plummet of his stomach.

“Will you let me?”

“Yes,” Barry gasps, his stomach tightening. Fuck, please. He rubs his ass against Kylo's groin. Ben groans in delight beneath him, the sound ending in a breathy expletive. Barry can feel Ben tightening around him for half a second as he pulls forward, then he relaxes again and slides back, lube visibly glistening on the latex on Barry's cock until Ben’s ass is once again flush with the thick curls of his pubic hair. Nice, Barry thinks.

Kylo must have also been watching Ben, as his hands have stopped moving over Barry's arms and just rest against the underside of his biceps holding them up and back. His fingers span a long way around them. This observation turns Barry on more than it probably has any right.

He squints at Kylo out of the corner of his eye, watching him. Kylo’s eyes are down, his expression longing. Barry holds back a smirk and nudges his nose against Kylo's cheek, inching closer to his mouth. He wouldn't mind kissing him, but Kylo is once again self absorbed. He continues to stare past Barry's torso at Ben's blushing ass; though slightly on the skinny side, it's a really nice ass, so Barry can’t really fault him.

Barry mouths Kylo’s crooked jaw. Stubble bristles against the sensitive skin of his lips and it makes him shiver. He rubs his open mouth in short swathes against Kylo's cheek to feel it again. Underneath him Ben moans as Barry feels himself harden even more.

Kylo grunts blinks out of his trance and pulls his head back a little. He’s still frowning as his eyes focus on Barry and for a moment an odd expression darts over his face, as if he doesn't know what to do with Barry's affections. Maybe he doesn't. Grunt, Barry reminds himself. But he likes to connect with his partners - though they’re usually female - even if he will never see them again in his life.

Kylo seems more confused than against it, and Barry finds it endearing that this hulking, dominant brute of a man can be so at a loss. He likes the contrast.

Kylo steps away and Barry hears the clink of a belt buckle. He decides not to wait doing nothing until Kylo is naked, so he grabs Ben around his hips again. Damn, that man is tiny around the waist. He gives a sharp thrust, pulling him back onto his dick.

Ben cries out, his hands fisting into the sheets. He is muttering a stream of filthy encouragement, using his whole body to meet Barry's thrusts, huffing and groaning low between curses.

For a Brit, this guy has quite a mouth.

Barry hears the squelch of Ben’s bottle of lube being squeezed, but before he can turn around to see Kylo completely naked, there is a hand at his neck, long fingers curling around the column of his spine, bending him over and holding him in place.

Barry is at Kylo’s mercy, the sudden rough handling and subjugation causing his adrenaline to spike. He’s not entirely sure he likes it, but his dick is still hard and Kylo’s hand is warm. He tries to relax and decides he likes being held in place like this, that he feels oddly safe with a tall, strong man at his back.

He gasps as Kylo jabs a lube-dripping finger into him, a second finger joining it before Barry can really adjust to the first. He grunts at the sting, his muscles clenching involuntarily around Kylo’s fingers and Kylo pauses, waits. The hand at Barry’s neck squeezes once in what he assumes is reassurance. It’s not that Barry doesn’t like the rough handling and domination. It was just a little too much on top of being a bit too sudden.

Barry regains himself and nods, and Kylo starts moving his fingers again and it feels wonderful. His thrusts are still harsh but don’t hurt, just feel like a lot of pressure. Kylo makes his whole body rock with the jabs of his fingers inside his ass.

Barry thinks Kylo might be deliberately pushing into him this hard with his fingers so he’ll rock into Ben. It’s like he’s been reduced to a conduit between the two men. This stray thought sends a sharp spike of lust to Barry’s dick, making him almost involuntarily snap his hips harder into Ben while still trying to not have Kylo’s fingers slip out.

Kylo adds another finger, scissors him open. It feels like it’s taking longer than necessary, until Kylo finally pulls back and Barry glances over his shoulder and sees Kylo's dick. Right then. That...was not what he expected. But it's not unwelcome. He stares hungrily as Kylo rolls a condom down his shaft, adds lube and gives it a few pulls.

As Kylo strokes himself he looks past Barry at Ben’s quivering legs. He really seems fixated with the Brit, Barry thinks. At least he’s still going to fuck Barry, so that’s okay.

Despite the thorough preparation, Kylo is still big – or rather thick. The stretch is harsh and stinging as Kylo pushes in without stopping until he is fully inside. He can feel Kylo’s balls brush his own. And while that is a really foreign feeling it is incredibly hot, too. But damn, Kylo is a big boy. Barry is sweating and grits his teeth when Kylo starts to move. Fuck, he’s going to feel that dick still tomorrow. Jesus Christ.

Barry whimpers through his teeth as Ben moans, clearly having caught on to what is happening behind him and Kylo suddenly stops. His hands become gentle as they stroke up Barry's flanks, blunt nails trailing up his neck into his hair, caressing his head with an oddly intimate, caring touch. It seems almost inappropriate in their situation, but Barry likes it.

“Fuck, Barry, your cock’s amazing,” Ben groans between his harsh breaths.

The hand in Barry’s hair pulls back suddenly only to clamp around Barry's hip, fingers digging in sharply, as Kylo thrusts forward hard, pushing Barry forwards into Ben. All three groan. It feels amazing but Barry misses the caresses almost instantly.

“You feel so good, Barry.” Ben whimpers, pushing back harder and harder to meet his thrusts.  
Barry hears Kylo growl low behind him when he thrusts into him hard. Much harder than he did before. Barry chokes on his next groan as Kylo rams him forward into Ben, almost making him lose his balance. Kylo grips the back of Barry’s head. To steady him, he thinks. His grip is like a vice and Barry worries he might have bruises on his scalp tomorrow.

“You’re so big, Barry,” Ben moans happily, “So perfect!”

Kylo swears. Barry almost doesn’t catch it, it is so mangled by Kylo’s gritted teeth and low growl. But he thinks he called Ben a ‘fucking slut’. And while Barry fully agrees, it doesn't sound friendly or like sex rambling at all, but there is real anger behind the words. His thrusts are hard and punishing. Barry is getting a little worried. The hard pounding is still good, but Barry feels a knot forming in his stomach.

When Ben's last name mixes more often than not into Kylo’s litany of harsh, muttered words, Barry feels a sliver of fear crawl up his spine for the first time.

It sounds so much like Kylo is familiar with it, familiar with Ben – with Hux. It cannot be.

Something is off here.

Barry cranes his head to glance at Kylo, but he is gripped by the back of the neck again, the hold unrelenting and uncomfortable while Kylo fucks him hard.

They’ve got to stop. Something is not going right and Barry’s neck is starting to hurt because Kylo is digging his nails in so fiercely. The onset of clammy panic makes him sweat and his stomach plummet.

He opens his mouth to say something, to put a stop to this when Kylo’s hand releases from his neck and Barry is shocked at how much relief he feels at not being held anymore. He is a bit giddy with it.

He wants to comment on the oddness of this situation, maybe make light of it a little to ease the obvious tension, wants to ask if Ben and Kylo have met before somehow. But Ben wails at another hard thrust. His words are just a low panting murmur, but both men can hear him clearly. Barry's blood curdles. “Fuck, Kylo! He is so good, much better-” Barry is pushed hard into him by Kylo's next thrust and the 'than you' is almost swallowed by Ben's ecstatic moan.

In a split second of clarity everything falls into place: Kylo's longing, pained glances, his odd stares at Ben, the camaraderie at the hotel reception that happened a little too quickly, that Kylo knew what Ben meant by a 'fag' right away. And most damning of all: Kylo had commented on Ben’s name before he had introduced himself.

Oh, something is so very, very wrong.

Kylo roars behind him, moves quickly as he pulls something from under the sheet next to Barry's leg.

There is an odd, dull sound that Barry feels as a throbbing punch in the back of his torso. His panicking brain takes a moment longer to identify the tearing sound that follows as his own flesh being ripped apart as whatever Kylo thrust into him is yanked out again.

Then, pain flares everywhere.

He screams, but a large hand clamps around his mouth, muffling the sound, as Kylo drives the weapon unerringly between the ribs of his back. Barry's muffled screams are drowned out by Hux's loud moans.

Kylo rips the knife back out, blood spraying in a fine line as cast-off against the ceiling, painting a second path sloppily intersecting the first.

Kylo leans back, panting hard, the large hunting knife with its bright vermillion coated blade  firmly in his hand. He looks down at the wide expanse of Barry's back.

Barry’s shocked into a stupor. He tries to pull in a deep, rattling breath, but starts coughing uncontrollably. There is an odd hissing sound that’s rapidly replaced by a raspy gurgle which Barry can only imagine is the sound of his lungs as they start to fill with blood through a puncture. His vision is getting spotty, and then narrows to a greying tunnel. The pulsating fog is rapidly narrowing, weirdly in synch with his suddenly too loud heartbeat, encroaching from all sides, drawing inwards.

Kylo sees little bubbles of Barry’s breath welling up with the blood from that wound. He imagines that he can hear the soft 'splip' sounds they make as they burst even over Barry's agonised gurgling groans and feels pleased. The bursting bubbles flick tiny droplets of blood in a circle on Barry's skin when they pop. They are quickly washed away by more pinkish, foamy blood welling up.

Splip, splip, crackle, fizz. Kylo likes it.

And he deserves it.

They both do.

Barry isn’t screaming anymore. He gurgles wetly and coughs, his body spasming, trying desperately to expel the liquid seeping into his right lung. His weakening hacking propels spittle and blood against Hux's neck.

Hux groans, sounding agonised, pushing back again and again, still moving, rutting against Barry and desperately chasing his completion.

In Barry’s last moments he’s still trying to hold himself up on shaking arms above Hux as he coughs and coughs, drowning in his own blood. He’s dying but still fighting and Kylo can admire that. Still hard, too: his body is spasming, his stomach muscles contracting, pulling his hips forward in erratic involuntary thrusts.

Kylo scowls. Technically Barry is still fucking Hux. And Hux is now frantically jerking off, trying to finish, still impaled on Barry's cock before it's all over.

Kylo teeth grate audibly.

He looks at the two stab wounds in Barry's back. They are oozing blood, but not enough, not quick enough. The trails haven’t reached around his flank to drip down and Hux needs...

His cock’s still inside Barry, and the knowledge that he’s still fucking him makes Kylo feel a little disgusted with himself. But with a vicious thrust of his hips Kylo pushes the trembling body forwards into Hux and at the same time plunges the knife deep into Barry's side.

The analogy of thrusting his cock and thrusting his knife into Barry is not lost on Kylo. Hux explained that to him once.

He hates him.

Also: the liver always bleeds a lot.

Kylo takes a sick satisfaction in twisting the knife and pulling it out quickly, ripping the flesh rather than cutting it.

Barry twitches, a wet, pained groan bubbles up from his throat and Kylo has to hold him up a little.

Blood pours out of the serrated wound in sluggish bursts with Barry's fading heartbeat, trailing in a thick rivulet down his skin, until it runs and drips from his body onto Hux's back.

Two fat splatters make it onto Hux's skin before he convulses, mashing his face into the sheets to muffle his wail as he comes.

Barry starts sagging, listing to the side and Kylo pulls out of him, taking care to hold onto the condom. He gives him a disgusted final push.

Barry tumbles heavily next to Hux onto the bed, slipping out of him and off him, smearing the blood on Hux's back into broad washes of red.

Hux shudders, trembles all over, his hand still around his cock, stretched hole twitching, face still buried in the sheets.

Kylo can hear his whimpering pleasure. His own face is a grimace of pained fury. He feels like screaming. But he can't. It's not allowed.

He stands back, both arms at his sides, useless, the knife still clutched in his right hand. The bright vermillion-red coated blade drips dark, thickening crimson onto the carpet.

Kylo always feels impotent with fury in these moments when Hux is still shuddering from his orgasm. He tries to calm himself down like Hux and before him his old master have taught him.

Hux's method always works better.

Well, Hux just _is_ better.

But Kylo hates him right now.

He looks at the floor, tries to bury his toes in the thin, ratty carpet to distract himself and takes deep measured breaths. He pulls air into his lungs through his nose and breathes out through his mouth in a moue.

Hux still whimpers on the bed, deeply satisfied.

There is a puddle of blood seeping into the comforter of the bed now around Barry's upper torso. It’s mainly from the last wound. The liver bleeds a lot, Kylo remembers with satisfaction. He is too stupid to remember why that is, but the liver bleeds. Hux explained. Hux's...he bled a lot, Hux said. He was angry, but smiling when he told Kylo about that and getting very hard, very quickly. Kylo remembers, because it was the first time they (didn’t just fuck, but) made love and Hux came in him. Kylo thinks it might have been an accident and Hux just forgot the condom in his haste and lust, but Kylo treasured it. They were so close then, so connected. Kylo yearns for that closeness even now when he hates Hux.

It is complicated.

Hux manoeuvres himself onto his side, completely indifferent to Barry's body next to him. He regards Kylo with a soft, sated look. His eyes wander over Kylo's naked body and Kylo feels a little self-conscious, as Hux’s eyes seem to trail every scar on his body. He doesn't like it that Hux can look so closely.

A scowl starts to form on Hux's face and Kylo wonders if he has done something wrong.

“Seriously?” Hux scoffs, breaking the silence. “Iraq or Afghanistan?!” He indicates Kylo's scars with a nod of his chin. “As if you would survive in a war zone.”

Kylo flinches at the vitriol in his voice. He isn't sure, but he thinks he could maybe survive. He feels a twinge of anger that Hux is so utterly convinced he couldn't. He's not weak. He survived _him_. And he was terrible.

He was the only man Kylo ever saw Hux kill. The other Hux has only told him about. But that was years ago, years and years before they met.

Hux's father was not a nice man.

Snoke was not a nice man.

Hux told him they both deserved what they got. And Kylo can only agree.

“Tosser,” Hux sneers viciously at Barry over his shoulder. “As if that's what shrapnel scars look like.”

He shakes his head, looking up at Kylo then. His gaze travels over all the pink, white and silverish lines again, the unevenness of his torso. Hunger steels into his expression.

“No,” he breathes, his exhale unsteady, “Those are from suffering much greater.” His voice is soft and awed.

Kylo nods gravely. He looks down at himself, at the ugliness of him, the discoloured lines, uneven and mottled. The scars criss-cross his whole torso haphazardly in multiple directions. It really doesn't look like shrapnel wounds at all. Hux is right, as always. He's also right about the suffering, but then Hux knows about suffering.

His head still lowered to look, Kylo flinches as a hand suddenly draws into his field of vision and strokes over his flank. He hadn't noticed Hux get up.

The gesture is warm and worshipful.

Hux steps close, eyes riveted on his scars. He bows low and nuzzles his face against his ribcage, against the broken, damaged, hopelessly destroyed skin.

Kylo trembles. The gentleness is almost too much for him. It is too close to his anger, not different enough. He craves it, but it is also too intense, overwhelming, just too much. He has to step away.

“Ah-ah,” Hux admonishes, drawing him back in against his face, his fingernails biting into the skin on Kylo's back.

Kylo shakes and bites his lips hard, whimpering helplessly as Hux continues to touch him. He grits his teeth and tries to bear it.

It's what he wants and what he hates. It makes his skin crawl. He hates it, hates Hux. But he cannot make him stop. He loves him. It is horrible.

Silent tears well up, burning his eyes, running down his cheeks and mingling with the half dried speckles of blood on his face as he tries not to sob. It is alleviating in a way, crying brought on by the unwanted, despised, enforced gentleness. Kylo just closes his eyes, shuts the visual world out and gives himself over to it, shaking and whimpering as he does.

“Nah-nah, don’t cry,” Hux whispers against Kylo’s skin between exploring kisses, “I’m being nice to you.”

He is, he is. Kylo should get a grip.

With a great shuddering sob and gulping down deep breaths, Kylo tries to calm down.

Hux’s lips trail over his shoulder following the many scarred fault lines on his skin.

Hux has always been nice to him. Nicer than his old master ever was. Well, maybe not in the beginning. In the beginning, Snoke had been nice – or rather he had tried. He’d still hurt Ben, but Kylo guesses that had been Ben’s own fault.

“You’re doing so well.” Hux murmurs his praise against Kylo’s skin. His breath is sticky with the moisture from his lungs and somehow that feels very intimate to Kylo, to have something from inside Hux’s body touching his.

“You did so well, Kylo.”

Kylo feels him draw away then, feels the air move against his naked skin, knows Hux has stood up fully again. He opens his eyes to follow Hux’s gaze towards the bed.

“Fucking faggot,” Hux sneers disdainfully. “And he wasn’t even honest about it.”

Kylo just nods gravely. They always were. It’s one of the rules. Only the ones that fall for Hux, only the ones that are “desperate to fuck a twink’s arse” - Hux’s words.

Well, they get their chance and then they get what's coming to them, Kylo thinks fiercely. It’s the rules.

“He also loses points for lack of inspiration by calling me a 'cunning little minx'. I mean, honestly?” Hux's indignation is palpable in the air.

Kylo looks at the dead man already cooling on the bed. Recalls how Hux moaned and writhed, how sluttish he was, how much he groaned and praised Barry. Recalls how he lavished praises on his thrusts, his grip, his cock.

“Did you enjoy it?” He asks. He doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to know, but needs to.

Hux’s eyes stray to the corpse. “Oh fuck, yes! I loved it,” he answers, ecstatic.

Kylo looks away, grinds his teeth. Hux always enjoys it with them; Kylo fears he loves it even more than with him. He’s always so vocal as he praises them and it makes Kylo so angry. So, so _angry_. But Hux continues to do it, maybe because it gets under Kylo’s skin. But that would mean Hux being purposefully cruel and Hux is never cruel.

Hux’s firm grip on his chin forces Kylo to look at him and he frowns, displeased at Kylo’s sad expression.

“Why are you looking like this?” He sounds curious, but there’s an underlying layer of annoyance.

Kylo swallows and tries to keep a hold of himself. But when he meets Hux’s eyes, his sting with unshed tears and his throat closes up, too. He shouldn’t be weak like this, but he is.

Hux studies his face closely, clinically, then his expression switches to glee.

“Oh Kylo,” he snorts, “Do you really think I meant the sex?” His eyes shine with laughter, Kylo suspects at his expense, though he cannot see the humour in it. That happens sometimes. Hux is just so much more sophisticated than him.

Hux pats his cheek, now openly grinning, happy and carefree. “Stupid boy.”

Yes. Yes, he is.

Hux’s eyes are soft with mirth, the way Kylo hopes he’d look at him more often under different circumstances. But they sweep over the bed, their focus jumping from bloody detail to bloody detail. A blissfully hungry smile tugs at his mouth, full lips twisting outwards. His cheeks are turning rosy, making him look much more youthful than his years.

When Hux looks back at him, Kylo drops his gaze, feeling strangely shameful to witness this first blush of renewed arousal.

Hux makes him look at him regardless.

His expression hardens somewhat as his gaze floats from Kylo to the dead man on the bed and back again. A frown creases his brows as he finally rests his eyes on Kylo again. Hux seems to have come to a conclusion, something Kylo doesn’t yet understand, but it makes him start to sweat.

“Kylo?” he says, dragging his name out. “You wanted him to be me, didn't you?” Hux asks, his voice laden with deceptively gentle curiosity. Kylo cannot look at him.

“When you fuck them, you always wish they were me,” Hux whispers to himself, but Kylo can hear him. Something small and knotted tight wants to crawl up Kylo's throat.

“Isn’t that right?” Hux says, directing his words at him sure and steady. “You wished it was me, when you were fucking him. You wanted to be fucking me.”

Kylo looks back at him imploringly, twisting his hands together, wanting, yearning, but always denied. He cannot make himself answer Hux’s accusation, and so he just hangs his head.

“You know the rules, Kylo,” Hux says gently. Kylo nods.

“So?” Hux wants him to state it, reinforce it by repetition.

“I am not allowed,” Kylo says in a small voice. He hangs his head, ashamed for his desire.

“That's right, you are not,” Hux says. “It's the rules.” He strokes Kylo's downturned cheek gently. “The rules are important, okay? Where would we be without the rules?”

“There would be chaos,” Kylo parrots. “They keep us straight.” He is repeating something he has heard and said a thousand times. His voice is wobbly and reedy, suppressed longing and neediness underneath every word.

Hux nods. “See? You know this,” he whispers as he takes Kylo's face in both of his, his eyebrows draw together and sad compassion writ on his face. Kylo is never entirely sure it's real. Hux is so good at faking it, so much better than Kylo. Sometimes, though very rarely, Kylo wonders if Hux himself knows what he actually feels anymore.

Kylo just nods, defeated, sniffling back his tears. Hux pecks him gently on the tip of his nose. Kylo closes his eyes and sighs, and yet he still can’t help leaning into the small gesture. He wants the gentleness, the reverence, and his whole body aches for him.

Hux glances at the body on the bed, considering. “You really hate me sometimes,” he says. Kylo, shakes his head in vehement denial and tries to pull himself back from Hux's hands.

“No!” He cries hastily. It’s a lie. “I just -”

“Be _shtum_!” Hux hisses at him sharply and Kylo swallows what he wanted to say, stares back at Hux and bites his bottom lip nervously. He’s suddenly afraid of Hux, scared he has overstepped, that this is it. That he has done bad and Hux doesn't want him anymore. He fears this often; Kylo can never really understand why Hux keeps him by his side at all. Why he saved and kept him in the first place. Kylo desperately wants to make it up to Hux, to make him see how much he truly loves him, how utterly he depends on Hux. The hands drop from his face as Hux holds up his hand to signal silence, when Kylo makes another attempt to justify himself. With no regard to spare for Kylo, Hux fully turns towards the corpse, taking the whole scene in. His eyes dart over Barry's dead body, narrowing the longer he looks.

“You wished it was me you fucked, but you also wished it was me when you stabbed him, didn't you?” His voice is sharp. It's less a question and more of a damning statement.

Kylo looks away, his eyes darting everywhere but at Hux's face. He can’t let him see the truth in his eyes, the hate that simmers alongside the love. It always has, and probably always will. He doesn't know any other way. He has loved Hux ever since he delivered him from Snoke, but he cannot help but hate him, too. It's the only way he knows _how_ to love, because there's something not right with his head. And Hux can make him so angry. So, so _angry_. He keeps his jaws tightly shut, not admitting anything. But he doesn't deny it either.

“You hated what he did, that it wasn't you.” Hux looks at Kylo, awe and reverence creeping into his gaze now. “Kylo, just look.” He gestures at the dead man on the bed. “Fuck! The things you do for me!” Hux is overwhelmed with glee and reverence and grips Kylo's chin hard, making him face his piercing gaze. “God, you are amazing!” He brings their faces so close their noses almost touch. “And I love you.”

Kylo’s whole world suddenly brightens, his knees wobbly in utter relief. “ _Hux_.” He says and it sounds forlorn but also heavy with deep, longing elation.

Hux loves him. Still. Despite his many failings.

“I always have and always will,” Hux declares heatedly.

He grips Kylo’s face, kissing him roughly, crashing his teeth into his lips. Kylo doesn’t mind. Hux is kissing him, and that’s all that matters.

Hux’s long fingered hands smear the tacky blood splattered diagonally over his face, his hands sticking to Kylo’s skin, pulling and rubbing until the speckles flake. He groans loudly into his mouth and Kylo shudders, hesitantly lifting a hand up to Hux’s neck.

When Hux pulls back, his eyes are gleaming, pupils dilated with arousal. His gaze flicks to the bed and he shivers, licks his lips before his his hungry gaze swivels back to Kylo. His whole body brims with aroused tension. He grabs Kylo’s flaccid dick, now hanging shrunken in its too-big hull of wrinkled latex. Hux quickly takes the condom off with a snap and Kylo gasps at the rough pull against his sensitive skin.

There’s a sour look on Hux’s face as he touches Kylo’s dick. Kylo knows he’s bigger than most. Since meeting Hux he’s seen enough penises to know that. He quickly looks away as he sees Hux’s expression continue to twist; watches as he keeps his dick away from his naked body, moving it with almost clinical detachedness with his thumb and forefinger.

Kylo doesn’t want to see him so disgusted at him.

Hux always praises others for their size, but never Kylo. Kylo wonders if maybe he is too big, or maybe something else is wrong with it. He hasn’t figured it out yet, and is too ashamed to ask Hux.

Kylo trembles, suppressing a yelp when Hux squeezes him a bit too hard as he carefully lays the condom next to them onto the bed spread, the open end folded over several times.

He squeezes again, too rough, and Kylo wills himself to rise, because that is what Hux clearly wants, and he is touching him, something Kylo desperately yearns for. He _wants_ to get hard for him. Hux loves him; it’s only natural.

Hux looks down at him, at Kylo’s dick only starting to stiffen in his hand. He looks impatient, already fully hard and flushed, and squeezes again. Kylo gasps sharply at the uncomfortable twinge. His hand twitches to grip Hux’s, to pull it away, but he doesn't. Instead he takes a deep, shuddering breath and widens his stance in an attempt to coax Hux to touch him more carefully, lovingly, pull less hard.

Hux’s gaze sidles up his body, catches his and then drops down between them. His eyes dart over his semi flaccid penis only to snap back to Kylo’s face with meaningfully raised eyebrows.

Kylo swallows, closes his eyes and tries to will his body into arousal. Maybe if Hux would kiss him again? He subconsciously sways closer. That would help, Kylo’s sure of that. He really likes their kissing.

Hux grunts and pats his cheek, startling Kylo into opening his eyes. Hux is grinning. He looks delighted, but it feels condescending.

Kylo doesn’t have to look down to know that the thought of kissing him has finally managed to make him harden sufficiently for Hux. Half hard at least.

Hux sinks down to his knees gracefully and swallows Kylo’s semi-hard dick in one large gulp. His whole body shudders at Kylo’s feet, hand curled tightly as he pumps his own dick.

It is sloppy and quick; Hux is too impatient, Kylo not aroused enough yet. But it is hot and wet and Kylo knows this is Hux’s way of showing that he wants him.

Kylo groans, whether in pain or relief he can’t say. Hux blowing him is the closest thing Kylo has to being inside Hux. It's one of the rules.

He hears an annoyed huff from below and knows it’s at the fact that Kylo hasn’t managed to harden further for Hux.

Hux pulls off and leans over to the bed. His lithe body stretches beautifully as he grabs the bottle of lube.

Kylo jumps as his dick is engulfed in wet heat again, a finger shoved deeply into his asshole probing for his prostate. Hux stretches him unmercifully, and he bites the knuckles of his fist at the conflicting sensations of too much, too quickly and the blissful wet suction around his dick.

Hux sloppily stabs at Kylo’s prostate and Kylo not only grows hard again, but also whimpers and whines, his hands carding gently, _fearfully_ through Hux's hair.

Hux’s eyes snap up to him with the sharp smile of a predator. His gaze drifts back down again and to the side, staring into the middle distance while he pulls his mouth up and sinks down again in a too-quick rhythm that matches his own frantic pulls and sharp stabs into Kylo’s hole.

No, Kylo realises, not the middle distance. Hux is looking just past him, at the bed, at the body on it.

Hux moans, his whole body shuddering in delight.

Kylo whimpers. He wants Hux’s gaze back on him. He looks so beautiful, flushed and aroused, looking up at Kylo. It makes him feel small, but in a good way, cared for and in awe that he is allowed to provide Hux with such pleasure.

He wants to be the only one Hux looks at. And he wants to have what all these other men get. That closeness, that intimacy. That connection.

It costs him nearly all his nerve to just open his mouth, but he tries. “Hux, Hux please can I…?” He doesn’t feel strong enough to outright ask, but he hopes that Hux will know.

Hux stops mid moan and looks up, drool sliding down his chin.

Kylo whimpers softly as those greenish-blue eyes are on him again, but Hux’s eyebrows twitch in a small frown and he pulls off with a wet suck, making Kylo shiver.

“What?” He tries to be inquisitive, but his displeasure at being interrupted and impatience permeate that one word.

Kylo swallows, shrinks away. He should be happy for what he gets. Be grateful for all the gifts he’s being given.

Hux pulls his fingers free and gets up from the floor. His naked body brushes Kylo’s front and he shivers. He wants to touch him, but he doesn’t dare. Not when he has fucked up like this.

Hux curls a lube-slick hand around Kylo. He pumps slowly, trying to keep him hard, his other hand brushing his cheek.

“Tell me,” he coaxes gently with a smile. Kylo thinks it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

Kylo is shaking a little and refuses to acknowledge it is fear. Instead of speaking, he carefully encircles Hux’s smaller frame with his arms, lets his hands travel slowly down Hux’s back until they come to rest on his pert butt. A sudden burst of bravery lets Kylo even slip a middle finger between Hux’s cheeks, only slightly spreading them, not risking to actually brush against his hole.

Hux’s face slackens in sudden understanding. He is so much more clever than Kylo.

“Why would you even want that?” Hux asks, looking a mix between disgust and intrigue. It’s the morbid intrigue one has for a particularly bad pile-up on the other side of the highway, that greed to experience something wrong and horrible and deriving a perverse pleasure from it. Kylo doesn’t want to be that pile-up.

Kylo shakes his head, shrugs helplessly. But he cannot make himself stop talking now that Hux’s eye bore into him, clear and hard and seemingly all-knowing.

“It’s just....” he trails off uneasily. He doesn’t really want Hux to think he’s weak or needy, though he suspects he does anyway. Hux would never say it. He’s too nice for that, yet must still think Kylo a burden sometimes. But Kylo feels compelled to address this. It’s bothering him.

“You enjoy it,” Kylo says sullenly.

“Of course I do,” Hux answers visibly puzzled by what Kylo is trying to imply. Kylo pulls away, his cock now softening rapidly, slipping free from Hux’s grasp. Hux frowns, for a second completely uncomprehending, but then understanding flashes across his fine features.

“But what you do, Kylo... What you _can_ do and _will_ do to them for fucking me....” He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he casts a quick glance to the corpse on the bed, shuddering in delight.

“What we have is so much better, don’t you understand? Don’t you _see_ that?” He sounds manic and Kylo isn’t sure if it’s an act or if he really is desperate for him to understand.

Kylo has never really seen Hux desperate, so he isn’t sure at all. Maybe he is just too stupid to get it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“If you like it, then why can’t we.... Why can’t _I_..?” He can’t even really say it, trails off as Hux’s face twists and he recoils with utter, bone-deep detestation. It envelopes his whole body, sluicing off his skin and making Kylo’s gut crawl.

“We’ve already talked about this, Kylo. You know the rules.” His voice is cold, devoid of any emotion.

“But-“

“No!” Hux is right in his face, livid, expression twisted and coiled to something ugly. He points one finger threateningly so close to Kylo’s left eye he carefully and slowly retreats a step. Hux is breathing hard, is even shaking a little, but within the space of one inhale to exhale everything shifts back to his pleasant self.

“There only ever was one wankstain waste of a burial plot who got to fuck me more than once, Kylo. And you know what happened to him.”

Yes. Hux’s father died. Kylo knows. Stabbed in the throes of passion – Hux’s words, not Kylo’s – when his son couldn’t take it any longer and couldn’t remember a time when it had been different - also Hux’s words.

He bled out quickly from a severely lacerated liver all over Hux, while Hux came for the first time in his life. He had been young, Hux had said. How young, Kylo never asked. He doesn’t want to know, really, doesn’t need an age to go with the sharp spike of arousal he felt when Hux told him, when Kylo involuntarily imagined that coupling. There’s something not right with him, he knows that. He tries not to be reminded of that.

Hux was smiling wistfully when he told Kylo all of this, but his eyes showed fathomless anger and hate. That’s when Hux first made love to Kylo and those things - the horror at Hux’s past, the arousal, and the happiness Kylo felt at being wanted and treated so well - are now inextricably linked.

He doesn’t mind too much.

Hux loves him, after all.

Sometimes Kylo doubts, or he forgets, but Hux always reminds him.

Kylo doesn’t know what really happened after Hux’s father died. He isn’t even sure Hux is his real name, but it suits him and Kylo loves the way it slithers and hisses at the back of the mouth.

Kylo also doesn’t know how Hux found him. It’s not important, anyway - he did and he delivered Kylo from Snoke. _That_ is the important bit. That, and Hux’s love.

Hux killed for Kylo, to free him. And for that Kylo is eternally bound to him, eternally grateful.

“I love you,” Hux says softly, and his tone more than the words pull at Kylo.

He motions with an elegant twirl of his finger for Kylo to turn around. “Get down on your hands and knees, Babes,” he purrs and Kylo just melts to the floor. A tingle suffuses his whole body and he flushes, assuming the position on the filthy carpet in front of the bed.

Hux’s dick is a lot more substantial than the fingers he had in Kylo a moment before and it stings and pulls uncomfortably as he slides into him. Kylo tries to relax, to ease himself into it. He bows his back, pushing out his ass, to make the angle at least a little more pleasurable - for them both, he hopes -  his front lowered almost completely to the floor. He holds his face away from it, though. He can see the faint marks haphazardly-cleaned stains have left on the cheap, mottled carpet. He doesn’t want to get his face any closer.

Hux groans behind him, pistoning his hips into Kylo. He fucks him hard and fast, shoves him forward with every thrust.

Kylo has to be careful, has to push back to not be thrown face-first into either the floor or the corner of the bed. From his low angle Kylo can see Barry’s feet from where they dangle over the side of the bed. The comforter underneath the body has soaked up the blood, but the stain has traveled through the fabric, spread like a dark red cancer along the fibres.

It only occurs to Kylo now that Hux has positioned him in such a way that he can easily look at Barry’s corpse again. A sharp twinge of jealousy stabs through him and he is almost too afraid to check, but defiance makes him turn his head back.

Hux has his eyes fixed on the dead man on the bed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his cheeks flushed by exertion and arousal. His stare is curious, but perverse lust shimmers in his gaze. His eyes snap to Kylo’s face and for a small moment he looks at Kylo with that intense, heated gaze, makes Kylo’s stomach drop pleasantly, before his eyes soften in a smirk.

Love you, his lips form wordlessly, his breath puffing and panting wetly as he increases his thrusts and makes Kylo wince a little. But he can take it. He’s taken worse, after all. And Hux loves him, so it’s okay.

Before his tensions can fully ease, he watches Hux’s head turn back towards the bed. But Hux loves _him_. Is making love to Kylo, not Barry, not that dead man’s body, that piece of flesh. No, it’s him. Kylo feels a triumphant warmth enfuse his chest and belly.

He moans Hux’s name, lets him push him into the floor with his next hard thrust, his cheek rubbing against the rough carpet. It smells faintly of some cleaner, but mostly musty. Kylo doesn’t care. All he cares about is the dragging push and pull of Hux’s dick inside of him, fingers digging into his hips as he drags Kylo back roughly into every shove.

Who cares about that dead man, anyway. He’s dead after all, while Kylo is alive. So alive. And he feels intensely, painfully loved. Owned and cared for. Safe. Safe and wanted in a way he never felt with his old master. Or, he is sure, not even before.

He tries to clear his head, tries to stay with Hux, here and now in the present. But the sting and rough thrusting makes his mind blank and prone to wander.

Sometimes he does remember life before, although he tries so hard not to.

He feels Hux fuck him from behind, taking him hard, his ass burning with it, and he cannot help but have his mind slip away. The pain does that sometimes.

It was never a perfect family. Even as a child, Kylo recognised that. But it was his. And his mother was so gentle, even if she was distant and often sad, and Ben often felt guilty that his moods made her cry even more. And his father... well, if he graced them with his presence, he was nice, too. But he lied a lot, promised what he would do for and bring Ben, how Mommy wouldn’t have to work as much soon, how they’d be a happy family. None of those promises ever came true. They had all been lies.

And then there was Snoke. He took Ben and hurt him. A lot. And Ben bled so, so much. Not from the cuts that now litter his body as scars; those came years later.

Ben was afraid of him. He wanted to go back home to his sad mother and lying father.

But Snoke kept him and told Ben truths in place of lies. Told him how special he was - and he made Ben feel special, bought him things, took him places, treated him well, even if he hurt him sometimes. He said the touching was okay, it was all fine between lovers. Natural. He said he was made for Snoke - and the more they did it, the less it hurt. So that turned out to be true, too.

_You like this, Kylo? Yes?_

_This feels good, I promise. Let me make you feel so good, Kylo._

And sometimes he even did.

He told Kylo how much he loved him - Ben was never truly convinced of this, but Snoke said he did and everything else was true, so this must be, too.

And Snoke never lied, never spoke half-truths or sugarcoated uncomfortable ones. He told Kylo how people would misunderstand their relationship, how they had to keep it secret, how they’d see Kylo as tainted.

Kylo knew he was tainted, because he could feel it. Knew he wasn’t the same as he’d been as a child _before_. He felt wrong now. Snoke said no one else would ever want him, only he truly loved him. And Kylo believed this, too. Years passed and no one ever came for Ben, so Kylo stayed. He was still afraid of Snoke and hated him, but he had also grown to love him. They were lovers, after all.

For a few years it all worked out fine, but slowly things started to change. The older he got the less Snoke touched him and the more he told Kylo he _was_ tainted - maybe he had been sugarcoating things after all, sparing Kylo the truth out of kindness.

Kylo wasn’t being touched at all in the end, except when Snoke was especially unhappy and cut him open. It would sooth him, make him happy and Kylo lived for that. Snoke’s unhappiness was all Kylo’s fault. He knew that, could feel his master’s disapproving glances at his old body. But Kylo couldn’t change the progression of time and it was unfair he was made to suffer for something he had no influence over. After years of devotion and love, Kylo’s hatred grew and turned into resentment. But still Kylo stayed. Ben had died years ago and his family would never want him back now. They were traitors; they’d let him be taken by Snoke in the first place, had never loved him enough or cared enough to look for him.

So he stayed. No one came for him, no one wanted him, except for Snoke.

And then Hux wanted him - wants him. He killed for Kylo.

Hux loves Kylo.

“You're too loose, Kylo. Tighten up for me, Babes,” Hux demands, slapping the side of Kylo's flank thoughtlessly. Kylo mewls at the pet name, contracting his muscles, groaning at the increased tightness that is just this side of too tense, too uncomfortable with Hux moving relentlessly inside him, pulling and pushing against him, making it feel raw. But Hux likes it this way and Kylo always obeys. Anything for him. Anything Hux wants.

“Do you want me to come in you?” Hux asks, smirk audible in his voice. He must know Kylo wants him to, he does it so rarely. Hux sometimes calls it Kylo’s “treat”, and Kylo is torn whether he likes it being referred to as that, as if he is someone’s pet.

He likes belonging to Hux, though. He likes to be his special somebody, to be touched and made to feel good. Only Hux can do that. Kylo knows this. He is his only one and he loves him.

Kylo just whines and mewls, overcome and shivering with the pleasure of what he perceives to be the greatest intimacy.

“Yes,” he sobs in ecstasy, begging as he writhes. “Oh yes, _please_!”

Hux pulls out and snaps the condom off, careful to put it precisely on top of Kylo's used one. They have to dispose of them safely after.

“So beautiful,” Hux murmurs, whispers reverently as he thrusts deep and fast into him. Kylo knows he is looking at the corpse, he always does. But that’s the difference: it’s _Kylo_ he makes love to.

“So beautiful what you did, Kylo. For me. I love you, fuck, I _love_ you.”

And Hux comes deep inside him.

Kylo is content to finish himself off quickly afterwards, now that Hux is done and Kylo's pleasure is not needed anymore. But tonight is different, as Hux grabs him roughly between his legs from behind, pulling his cock and balls backwards, jerking his hand quickly over the latex covered length the way Kylo likes.

Kylo cries out, feeling briefly overstimulated, as Hux plunges two fingers into his hole, pushing deep and crooking them. Hux's come mixed with the lube makes an obscene squelching noise and Kylo can’t help but come from just hearing the moist, sucking sounds. There’s milky-white streaks dribbling down the inside of his thigh as he shudders and quakes and _Hux_ did it to him. _Hux_. He sobs pitifully, his open mouth almost brushing the carpet.

He is still wracked with small aftershocks as Hux wipes the trail of fluid back up his thigh before it can drip on the floor, shoving it back inside Kylo. The noise is wet and smacks in the air as he pulls back out to scoop up more and repeat his meticulous gathering. “Keep it in there,” Hux warns him. “We don't want to leave any evidence.” He pushes two fingers in again and again as he stuffs the mixture of lube and come into Kylo's tired body.

Kylo just shivers and moans brokenly as he endures the treatment, his heated, sweaty forehead pressed to the filthy carpet. He’s almost envious of the attention Hux lavishes on not leaving any trace. But Kylo also wants it. Wants to keep all of it. It's his. Hux allowed him to have this and Kylo is so grateful for that.

Hux places an almost tender kiss on one cheek making Kylo whimper. He keeps one slender hand cupped over Kylo’s ass preventing any dripping as he reaches around him for Kylo’s boxers and pants.

The nail of his thumb glides sharp and wet over his stretched and puffy hole. “Tighten up and get dressed,” he says.

Kylo nods, but stays on his knees a moment longer, his face still pressed into the grimy carpet, working his internal muscles. He imagines that he can still hear soft, wet squelching and waits for his heart to calm down.

Hux is fully dressed by the time Kylo finally manages to stand on shaking knees.

“Oh, and Kylo?” Hux sing-songs with dark amusement that this time really does not reach his cold eyes. “We really have to work on your acting skills.”

Kylo frowns, not daring to meet his eyes. The light tone makes the reprimand even worse. Heavier somehow.

“I saw your ‘performance’,” Hux says, accenting his words with air quotes and rolled eyes, “in the yard earlier…”

Kylo cringes.

“You saw that?” His voice is small.

“Yes, and it was dismal.” Hux scolds with a sharp grin. “We've got to work on that, Kylo.”

Kylo nods, acquiescent. Hux is right. He always is.

“Did you at least make sure no one else saw you?”

Kylo nods quickly. There was no one. The cameras were only pointed at the reception desk, and will show Barry checking in alone and two men checking in a little later. Their licenses are fake, they paid in cash, no one saw all three of them together. No one can identify them and connect them to Barry. Kylo is sure of it.

Once fully dressed and put together again, yet still leaking come in a slow trickle into his boxers and clenching again and again to prevent it, Kylo knows his used, aching body won’t be able to keep all of it. Feeling raw, he gets his heavy backpack from their room. He’s midway through unpacking it before Hux leaves to retrieve his. Would be strange if two men shuttled backpacks from one room to another.

Kylo crouches down and tries to ignore the warm fluid soaking through the fabric between his legs as he unloads the gallons of bleach, ammonia and other cleaning supplies. He always has to carry the heavy stuff, while Hux packs the disposable full body suits, gloves, respirators, rags and the little handheld hoover. He’s got their supplies of food and water, so his pack isn’t really light, but Kylo’s is definitely heavier. He doesn’t complain about it, might bring it up sometimes, but he secretly likes that he gets to carry more. Sometimes he catches Hux looking at his defined muscles with a hunger that makes Kylo proud, makes him feel special and wanted.

They suit up, use what Hux refers to as the buddy-system, making sure that each checks the other’s safety measures. Kylo thinks he sees warmth and gentleness in Hux’s eyes as they meet for a moment through the thick plastic of their goggles.

Hux starts with the vacuum, going over every surface their bodies have touched, meticulously sucking up any hairs they might have shed, while Kylo takes the window cleaner and wipes all surfaces, paying extra attention to the door knob and other things he knows they touched. They’ll have to move the body to clean underneath it and bleach, leaving the ammonia for last as it smells the worst.

The work is repetitive and boring and while Kylo is highly focused on doing his job right - he cannot fuck this up! - his mind can’t help but wander as he glances at Hux. Despite being encased in an ugly full body suit, goggles and respirator, Kylo still finds him painfully beautiful. His movements are exact and lithe, his greenish-blue eyes intensely focused over the gray rim of his respirator. Even the distortion from the goggles and the filters on the respirator don’t detract.

This man has freed him. Kylo is grateful.

He remembers Hux, hair dark with sweat at his hairline, his beautiful face splattered with blood from the repeated stabs that ultimately killed Snoke.

He had looked at Kylo. “I want you to come with me,” he'd said, his expression shifting to something hungry and what Kylo would later like to think was deep longing, a deep connection. “I want you.”

Kylo had hesitated and Hux’s expression had darkened.

“That old man,” Hux had scoffed, deprecatingly, scuffing his foot into the bloody mess, “do you actually _love_ him?” The disgust dripped off his words and permeated the air. Kylo hadn't wanted that directed at himself. He might have once, but that was long ago now and he wasn't sure he’d ever really loved Snoke. He had shook his head quickly, trying to mirror Hux's disgust. He probably failed.

He’s never been good at matching Hux's level of contempt.

Standing over the heap of mangled flesh that used to be a man, Hux had declared, “He was only holding you back.” He held out a hand to Kylo, leaned in, close, intimate. “Follow me.”

And Kylo took it.

It was warm and soft. And Hux entwined their fingers, holding on to Kylo, keeping him close.

Kylo can’t forget the touch of that warm, slightly sweaty palm over his.

They labour for hours in the hotel room and despite the mind-numbing work and  his aching body, Kylo always finds clean-up calming. It’s freeing in a way, makes him feel cleaner even though by the end of it he’s bathed in sweat. He’s already forgotten that dead man’s name, he tells himself, although part of him knows and will always remember all their names. The lucky ones.

But right now, he is calm.

After packing all the bottles and trash, they crowd together in front of the door carefully peeling themselves out of their suits, stuffing them in their trashbag. Hux quickly hoovers around them before they cram everything back into their packs and hoist them up to leave. It is very early in the morning, the sun not yet over the horizon, but the sky that peeks in through the small gap in the curtains is already a bluish mauve.

Kylo chances a glance at Hux and smiles; he even dares to brush his nose into his hair. It startles Hux, but he doesn’t pull away, only pats his cheek twice, smiling indulgently.

It’s a new day.

All they have to do is check out, drive Barry’s car to where they parked theirs yesterday and clean that, too.

Hux surveys the room at large. “I think this room's never been this clean,” he announces.

He looks at the corpse, his face twisted into a sardonic little smirk. “Except for the rubbish.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!  
> Sin and talk kylux to me at my [Tumblr](http://cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com/)! ^^  
> Also, feedback/comments are love <3


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